


Ice

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28204047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis looks too cheap.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 14
Kudos: 101





	Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Everything in the window is either gold or silver or straight up diamonds, and Ignis should know darn well that Noctis buys all black. At least, he does when he actually buys anything himself. Most of his wardrobe now consists of gifts from Prompto and hand-me-downs stolen from Gladiolus, sprinkled in amongst ‘staples’ that Ignis gets for him. The last time he spent money on clothes, it was pre-ripped acid-wash jeans that his father sighed at him for wearing to dinner, and he smirked all the way down to the lobby, until Clarus made him change and confiscated them. Now he doesn’t bother anymore. Really, only the things that Ignis buys him seem ‘acceptable’ to wear out, which is a shame, because Noctis looks damn good in the Kenny Crow onesie Prompto got him for his birthday. 

He’s wearing plain black pants and a long-sleeve Justice Monsters shirt despite Ignis’ protests, and when he actually catches a glimpse of himself in the too-polished window, he realizes just how _damn good_ Ignis looks beside him. But Ignis always looks good. His dark jeans cling to him like a glove, showing off how long and lean he is, perfectly cupping his sculpted rear, just indented enough in the front to give Noctis an idea of what he’s working with. His purple coeurl-pattern shirt is so well fit it might as well be painted on, and the best parts are where it’s _not_ —the two top buttons open at his collar and his sleeves rolled up near his elbows. His arm reaches around Noctis’ back, and Noctis can see his cheeks colour in the reflection, at least until he realizes that Ignis is just giving him a little push forward.

“Come on, Your Highness,” Ignis urges, cool but already exhausted-sounding, because Noctis complained the entire car ride over. “The sooner you go in, the sooner you can come out.”

“Looking like an idiot,” Noctis grumbles, because an emerald necklace is lined right up with his reflection’s throat, and it looks as bad on him as he knew it would. He resists the hand at the small of his back and tells Ignis, “This so isn’t _me._ ”

“I’m aware of that. But you have duties, like all of us, and when the Crown tells you to appear more expensive in public, you must listen.”

He doesn’t see why. He likes dressing so casual that half the time people don’t even realize he’s royalty. He shoots Ignis a quick glare, only to receive a small frown that makes him hesitate—he knows it’s not Ignis’ fault. Ignis is just doing his job. And he knows Ignis respects him as a person and probably did stick up for him, insisted on his right to _be himself_ , but then the Council probably ran right over Ignis because that’s what they do. Somewhere right between sympathetic and tired, Ignis murmurs, “Noct, _please_. Just buy a few pieces and _try_ to appease the Crown. You don’t have to wear them at home.”

Noctis doesn’t spend as much time at home as he’d like. He’s too busy with university and the Citadel and Prompto’s new apartment and the arcade. When he still doesn’t budge, Ignis switches to, “If this is too much, we can go get you fitted for a few suits—”

With a scowl, Noctis lurches forward. He’d rather be draped in jewelry underneath a hoodie than do anything in a suit. There’s a little bell above the door that rings when he goes inside, and the only thing that keeps him from popping back out again is knowing Ignis is right behind him. There are two other customers and three attendants flittering around the gleaming cases, but none look as nice as Ignis does. But that’s not a fair contest. The couple in the corner do look up at him and whisper behind their hands, but it’s not as bad as getting spotted and swarmed in the mall. 

In the middle of the boutique, Noctis stops, and doesn’t know where to go. Panes of glass shield all kinds of gems and precious metals, everything from wedding rings to sculptures of animals, and Noctis has no idea which pieces will appease his evil overlords. He waits a few seconds, then throws a helpless look at Ignis, who, of course, rescues him like always. 

Ignis tugs him lightly by the wrist towards a long counter of minimalist necklaces, simple but exquisite—all thin chains with a single pendant in the front. Nothing really calls to Noctis. The closest is maybe a yellow stone that’s sort of chocobo-coloured, and chocobos make him think of Prompto, and anything Prompto is good.

There’s also a silver-black skull in the corner that’s kind of punk-rock and might piss off his keepers more than please them. He nudges Ignis’ side and grunts, “How about that one?”

Even Ignis’ frowns are attractive. He just looks so _suave_ , like he belongs in this sort of place, even though Noctis knows he always shops on a budget and is just as low-born as Prompto. With his hair styled back and his glasses accenting his high cheek bones, he looks like a prince. He should be the prince. And Noctis would be a lousy but loyal advisor that would _never_ make him wear anything he didn’t want to.

Ignis is loyal too, and even though he clearly doesn’t think the skull is the sort of thing Noctis should pick, he calls to the nearest salesman, “Excuse me?”

The man straightens up from behind the counter and instantly wanders over, about as tall as Ignis with a similar complexion but spikier hair and a plethora of earrings. His accent is somehow even more posh than Ignis’ when he asks, “How can I be of service?”

“We’d like to try this one,” Ignis answers, gesturing towards the skull. A shallow grin on the salesman’s face says he approves of the choice more than Ignis. But then, he might not realize that they’re supposed to be making Noctis look less cool and more conformist. Producing a set of keys from his belt, the man opens the case.

When the necklace comes out, Noctis nods at Ignis and instructs, “On him.” Because he’s not actually going to get something Ignis doesn’t like on him, but that doesn’t mean Ignis won’t like it on himself. And the more Noctis looks at the intricate pendant, the more he thinks it’d look good against Ignis’ collarbone. Despite Ignis’ surprise, the salesman moves towards him, and Noctis gets a perverse satisfaction out of the mere idea of dressing Ignis up. He couldn’t ask for a prettier doll.

The man steps smoothly behind Ignis and draws the chain around him, securing the clasp at the back of his neck, letting the skull dangle against his pale skin. Noctis’ eyes follow each minuscule movement. Ignis gives a little hitch of breath when it lands—maybe it’s cold, when his body’s always warm. Noctis has grabbed his hand and arm and even waist before enough to know that—every hug Noctis has ever gotten has been stiflingly _hot_. But that might just be because he only ever gets them anymore when he’s in one of _those_ moods, sad and desperate and bitterly _alone_ , where only Ignis can reach him, and then Ignis is like a burning star in his otherwise bleak life. 

There’s a few seconds where the salesman adjusts the piece, totally unnecessarily, long fingers gliding around Ignis’ throat and brushing right under his collar, and suddenly the scene isn’t so pretty, because _jealousy_ bubbles up in Noctis’ chest. He’s not upset that Ignis gets the first piece, or that he looks better in it than Noctis ever could. But no one should get to _touch him like that_ except his prince. 

Ignis plucks up the pendant, chin pressed against his chest to examine it. He admits, “It’s beautiful... though not exactly what the council had in mind, I think.”

“It looks good on you,” Noctis counters, even though everything looks good on Ignis. Things look even better when Noctis knows he’s the one that picked them out. Ignis dons a begrudging smile that somehow makes him even more irresistible. Before Noctis can stop himself, he asks, “Can I buy it for you?”

Ignis’ eyes go a little wide. He can’t be all that startled, because Noctis tries to buy him things all the time. And he’s incredibly intelligent, so he must be picking up on all the many hints Noctis heaps onto him—of _course_ Noctis wants something of _his_ around Ignis’ neck. 

But Ignis doesn’t say anything about that. He never does. Instead he smiles softly and agrees, “Alright. If you promise to choose something for yourself so I can at least tell your father I tried.”

Noctis nods. He’d rather have Ignis choose it. But if he has to, he’ll subtly take pictures, excuse himself to the washroom, shoot the screenshots over to Prompto and make him pick something. The salesman clears his throat and suggests, “If you’re looking for something more... _royal_... we did just get in a number of Altissian broaches made with the finest sunstones...”

That sounds ghastly. But Noctis grunts, “Okay,” and lets the salesman usher him across the store.

Ignis’ hand reappears on Noctis’ hand, just as comforting as always, with a little squeeze around his palm that makes him shudder with _delight_. Ignis quietly tells him, “Thank you.”

Noctis nods again and lets himself be loaded up with ugly, gaudy things, because when it really comes down to it, he knows he’d do anything for the man he’s always loved.


End file.
